


One Day

by Missy



Category: Venture Bros
Genre: Character Study, Community: femme_fic, F/M, Female Protagonist, Humor, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of one Dr. Mrs. the Monarch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for overthetiber at livejournal for femme_fest 10, prompt: Between co-running the cocoon, developing new villainous schemes, rescuing her beloved yet incompetent husband, fending off the advances of Henchman #21 and/or Rusty Venture, and thwarting Brock Samson's constant attempts to out her, it's a wonder that Sheila finds time to sneak off for a cigarette break.

She woke in the morning in the same bed and position she always found herself – in the Cocoon, beside her husband, her head on his left palm and his right leg looped over her hip.

Sheila lay still for just a moment to savor the momentary quiet of the morning, then reached for the side-table and her cigarettes. She took two puffs of her Marlboro and stretched. Ah, that's the life…

A siren wailed, two seconds before the room rocked wildly to and fro.

"What the hell is-" her husband began, but she was already out of bed and on her feet, headed to the doorway. 21 was already waiting for her by the door.

"It's Venture!" he gasped out.

This was actually an exciting development for Sheila. "Rusty finally got his shit together?"

He grabbed the doorframe as the Cocoon suddenly bucked under their feet. "Not Rusty, Jonas Junior!"

"Jonas? Why would he…" Sheila didn't bother to complete her thought, as the sound of an explosion, and the screams of a few hundred henchmen, filled the air. "Protect the right flank and get me sound in the throne room!" she ordered 21. Sheila glanced over her shoulder – her husband was hopping on one leg as he tried to pull his boxers on. "Move!" She pushed 21 out of the way and headed to the control room.

The monitors around her spewed snow and static at her as she climbed over various bodies and severed limbs on her way to the control panel. She had to dial in Jonas' transmission herself, and gradually he came in as she dialed to the left.

"…In my good name!"

Sheila huffed out a breath. "You're breaking every Guild law on the book," she declared.

Jonas glared back at her. "And you didn't when you blew up my new satellite?"

"You're out of our jurisdiction! We didn't do anything to you," Sheila growled, rubbing her forehead.

"The henchmen who blew it up were wearing your colors!" he replied.

Sheila just groaned. "You're a smart man, Jonas. Who hates both you and The Monarch?"

His eyes flared. "Phantom Limb! I should have known…uh, sorry for the uh…I'll send you a check."

"And we'll call it even," she shrugged. "Fine with us."

"And you won't report me to the Guild?"

Sheila knew that doing that would simply result in the Guild questioning them, and possibly disallowing their continued arching of Jonas' brother. "It's forgotten," she said, airily and nonchalantly, making it sound like a favor from a princess.

With that, Jonas' signal faded out. Sheila pushed back her hair and leaned against her throne, heaving a sigh of relief. She looked up at her husband's touch and he grinned. "Not bad for a woman in her slip," he decided.

***

While she supervised the removal of bodies, the Monarch ordered his minions to start repairs. There was time enough for a small breakfast, served to them by TimTom and Kevin. Her husband already had a plan in the works to get Venture, and Sheila half-listened while TimTom buttered her muffin.

The Monarch had, predictably, gone off on a tangent. "…and he puts mustard on his pancakes! What kind of freak does that?"

"I likes 'em," murmured TimTom.

"Lots of mustard," added Kevin.

"Who cares about what he likes to eats?!" Sheila wondered. "Do you have a plan for the next strike on Venture's Compound?"

He shook his head. "Nothing! My brain is tapped! I don't know what it is…maybe I should skip 30 Rock and go straight to bed tonight. It's that Tina Fey, she's just got..."

Sheila cut him off with a sigh. "I've got a plan."

His eyebrow rose but he didn't say a single thing.

Continuing, Sheila said, "Venture's got a diamond necklace in his safe. It's supposed to be for his landlord's kid's birthday…"

"But it would look much better around your glorious neck!" Monarch gleefully threw in.

"I just threw this out there. I don't even know if it belongs to him. Do you think he'd give Orpheus' kid an expensive present for her birthday?"

He shook his head at her skepticism. "So what if it's a fake? The point of the mission is to make Venture rue the day he heard the name 'The Monarch!'"

She sighed. That was always the point, after all, and she, with her years of arching experience, knew that very well. "We need to double-check our reinforcements. What kind of security does he have around that thing? Are there lasers or saber-toothed tigers?"

He leaned in over the table and began to illustrate his plot with salt and pepper shakers. Truly interested, Sheila leaned in to listen. She could feel TimTom and Kevin lean in to listen, too, and their curiosity made her smile.

***   
She hadn't played cat burglar since she seconded for The Midnight Powboy as Daisy Mayhem…well, if she were to be honest, that was more bank-robbing than cat burgling. She'd had her foot up over her shoulder and a fresh cigarette in her mouth when 21 had come upon her stretching out in the hallway. His jaw nearly fell to the floor.

Well, that was embarrassing. He was a nice kid, but she'd never felt anything romantic for him – and on top of that she was a married woman. Sheila stubbed her cigarette out on the floor as quickly as she could. "Did you need something?"

"Uh," he squeaked, "The Monarch says we're ready to go to phase twelve!"

"Good," she grinned, predatory.

21 rushed off, trying to wipe the grin off of his face.

***

There was an art to arching. Few people understood it, but Sheila knew was an artist when it came to these things, the ordering of men, the plotting of villainous missions. Seconding is an even more specific art – she had to enhance the Monarch's presence, lead the henchmen in an effective and deadly way and follow the plan of battle as closely as possible. And sometimes (as in during this very invasion of the Venture Compound), one got left behind the pack while rescuing ones husband from a malfunctioning robotic dog and he, in his flailings, knocked you into a wine cellar.

Yes. It had been a damn good plan, one that wasn't supposed to land her in a wine cellar with Brock Samson.

"Uh…there's a panel in the control room. As soon as someone trips it, we'll be free." He scratched at the back of his neck, a pained, awkward expression on his face. He was, she noted, in his underwear.

"Does anyone ever go in there?"

"It's where Doc keeps his 'gentlemen's magazines.' But you'd know all about that, right?"

"What are you talking about?" she lit her Marlboro and leaned back against a rack of Shiraz.

"C'mon – everyone knows about the baboon uterus." He squinted down at her. She knew exactly what he was looking for – the scar on her throat that marked where her Adam 's apple had been removed.

Most women would be afraid to share an enclosed space with Brock Samson. None of them would have struck out at him, were he to have insulted them.

Those women weren't Sheila, who had excellent aim and who clocked Brock across the brow with a heavy bottle of Pinot.

***

Brock held his bloody forehead, still a little weak on his feet as he watched her wearily. He lifted his chin in a sign of respect, then reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Marlboro and lit it.

"Here," he said, after taking a drag. It was a small sign of respect from him, for her having knocked him out flat and cold.

She should have been reluctant to try it, but by then Sheila was jonesing for some tobacco. She'd managed two drags off the cigarette before The Monarch kicked in the door, braying for Brock Samson's head.

***

The casualties were minimal, and they'd gotten away with two layers of Triana's birthday cake, to boot. That was worth celebrating, which the two of them did in bed with the cake and two forks between them.

The sugary repast made The Monarch a little edgy. "He didn't try anything with you?" her husband asked; she noticed the concern under the bluster.

"He's not interested," Sheila declared , dangling the pendant from her index finger.

"Then he's gotta be crazy. Look at you! You're like a super-goddess."

"Keep talking," she grinned, lying her head against his chest.

"A princess!"

"Like Grace Kelly?"

"Hotter!"

She wrapped her arm around his waist. He didn't know, after all of these years. He didn't need to know – he loved her for her. And that was all Sheila needed.


End file.
